


Coming Home

by PalenDrome (nerdherderette)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst and Feels, Auror Harry Potter, Bonds Beyond Time, Domestic Fluff, Drinking, Flashbacks, Ghost Draco Malfoy, Ghost Sex, Grief/Mourning, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020, Hopeful Ending, Loneliness, Loss, M/M, Marital Bonds, Mentions of Offscreen Canon-Typical Violence, Mild Sexual Content, Moving On, Quidditch Player Draco Malfoy, Reckless Driving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26423626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdherderette/pseuds/PalenDrome
Summary: Three years after his world was shattered, Harry tries to pick up the pieces at the place he once called home.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 54
Kudos: 127
Collections: DrarryLove, H/D Hurt!Fest 2020





	Coming Home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [triggerlil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/triggerlil/gifts).



> Thanks so much for your beautiful prompt. It truly moved me, and I hope this captures some of its love and bittersweetness.
> 
> Hugs and kisses to my fabulous beta [OllieMaye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OllieMaye/pseuds/OllieMaye) for her patience and insight. And a million thanks to alpha_exodus and Quicksilvermaid for being the most wonderful mods. This wouldn't have come into being without your understanding and support.
> 
> Update 2/19/21: The incredibly talented and amazingly kind [erlasart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erlasart) drew beautiful [cover art](https://i.imgur.com/8RrkgJ7.png) for the story. I'm just blown away, thank you so very, very much ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> *Additional cw in end notes

* * *

It's small. Cosy, with stone walls bleached nearly white by the sun. It juts up from the earth, rough edges gentled by time, as if it were meant to stand forever. Its interior is filled with warm wooden floors marked by knots and wormholes; massive windows with thick, wavy glass that warp the view of the bay; and enough rooms to house a young family and then some. It is, as Harry's estate agent says, a holy grail in the housing market: a home that's as perfect for a growing family as it is an older couple. It smells of salt and promise, happiness and love. It's the kind of place one could envision living in forever.

Harry hates it with a passion.

*

Harry isn't sure what the right thing is, but he knows he it’s not _this,_ not when he feels like a stranger in his own home. _Their_ home, he quickly corrects, although it hardly feels that way anymore. The graffiti that once defiled the door to the master suite has since been scrubbed clean, but the words are forever engraved in his mind, as if etched by a surgeon's scalpel.

_"It's been three years, Harry."_

_"You need closure. Without it, you can't move on."_

_"We're here for you, mate, whatever you decide. But, uh, it might not be a bad idea to consider selling."_

Grief settles around Harry, a familiar and suffocating embrace. He grabs a bottle of Firewhiskey from the kitchen and shuffles towards the guest bedroom, prepared to drink himself into a stupor on sheets that smell of dust and memories. 

*

It's hot—too bright and warm for the morning, even if Harry's slept later than usual. It takes him a moment to remember that he's not back in London, burrowed amongst the pale greys and dark wood of his two-bedroom flat, but in the home that was supposed to be his and Draco's sanctuary.

He rubs his face and smacks his lips, trying to chase away the sourness on his tongue. The creases from the sheets have formed grooves amidst the stubble.

_"Come on, Harry." Draco tugs on the ends of the duvet and frames the cloth against the wall. He's dressed only in his boxers, and Harry can't decide if he wants to strip Draco naked or bundle him up in all that fabric and keep him secure forever. "It's perfect," Draco crows. "The perfect colour, the perfect pattern, the perfect weight."_

_Harry smiles as Draco prattles on. These days, 'perfect' punctuates Draco's sentences with increasing regularity. "It's nice." Harry doesn't care about such things, not really, and he knows Draco will manage to wheedle his way into getting anything he wants in the end. He makes an effort to consider the duvet by gathering a slip of the fabric between his thumb and forefinger and rubbing it together. "The one in our room feels softer."_

_Draco drops the duvet with an expression of mock outrage. The material puddles over the floor and he side-steps it gracefully. He stalks over to Harry and plants his hands on his hips._

_"It's softer because you're a possessive bastard who finds it necessary to mark my skin. Coach Campbell threatened to institute a seasonal ban on sex because I couldn't sit on my broom for days."_

_Harry can't help puffing out his chest. Expensive, high-thread-count sheets are a small price to pay. "If that's what it takes," he says with a grin._

_"That's what it takes." Draco tugs Harry by the front of his shirt, smelling like lemon and cedar, and walks them to the edge of the bed where they tumble onto the mattress in a mess of laughter and limbs. "Speaking of which, it’s time for me to return the favour."_

Harry falls against the sheets, face first. The fabric is musty, lacking any trace of Draco. He flattens his body against the mattress as he takes a larger whiff. It still smells stale, but he can't seem to stop.

*

"How's it going, Harry?"

Hermione doesn't ask _How are you?_ She's learned the futility of that question long ago.

"Okay." Harry cradles the mobile between his shoulder and his ear. It was Draco, surprisingly, who had wanted the device, fascinated by the technology and apps such as TikTok and Twitter _("They have photos of people dancing with their Crups, Harry!")._ "I'm up and mostly sober."

There's a deep inhale on the other end. "It's after three."

Harry takes a stick and drags it along the flower bed lining the walkway. Although it's mostly filled with weeds, the stakes which once held up the rose bushes Draco cultivated from his mother's gardens are still present. "Your point?" he asks, poking at the base of one post. It tilts dangerously, to his grim satisfaction.

"Look, Ron and I can come down and help you. Or we can hire an outside agency to do a staging."

Harry chokes on his anger; he can't believe Hermione would suggest such a thing. "A stranger's not going to go through our personal belongings."

Hermione remains unusually quiet. "Maybe this is too much," she mutters under her breath.

The stake leans at a forty-five degree angle when Harry gives it a vicious poke. "Weren't you the one who said I needed to move on?"

"I still believe that, but the house goes on the market in a little over a week. If you feel this is a huge mistake—"

"Everything about this was a mistake!" There aren't any neighbours for miles—a boon, Harry and Draco had thought when they purchased the property—but the noise startles a pair of birds in the rafters who flap their wings and take off indignantly. "This house, that night… the idea that Draco and I could finally be happy." Harry's voice breaks.

"Harry." Hermione's voice sounds muffled, as if she's breaking right along with Harry. "Are you sure you don't want company?"

"If it was just a matter of getting the home sale-ready, Marie could've handled it," he says, remembering how excited the estate agent had been when Harry gave her the go-ahead to list the property. "I need to do this myself."

"Fine. But if you change your mind—if _any_ of this becomes too much—I want you to call."

Harry hears her hesitation. He hates that he's made his best friend feel as if she's intrusive. It feels like the beginning, when everyone tiptoed around him, killing him with kindness.

"My battery's at eight percent. I'll call you later, okay?" He hangs up before she gets the chance to reply, then adjusts his stick and attacks the weeds with a renewed purpose.

Despite the hour, the sun rises higher, yellow-white, relentless and unforgiving.

*

On the third day, Harry wakes up at ten—a respectable, if not entirely industrious, hour. There's a bit of cloud cover, and he thinks he can get both plant beds fully weeded and some shrubs ordered from the local nursery before supper.

Something loosens inside him as the hoe hits the dirt. The roots of the vines and weeds are eviscerated in strands, the tiny offshoots that grip the earth no match for the tool's steel edge. After some time, Harry approaches a zen-like state of _swing-dig-pull,_ the rhythm and impact of each action propelling him forward.

The roots and weeds are coming up faster and faster until he hits a snag near one of the wooden posts.

"Fuck," Harry mutters, rubbing his elbow as the hoe bounces off something in the dirt. He angles the garden tool and swings it forward, only to be met with the same result.

 _"They're Veilchenblau roses."_ Harry remembers the pride in Draco's voice when the hybrid flowers first bloomed, showering the entrance to their home in a riot of magenta-pinks while perfuming the air with a sweet, citrus fragrance. There's none of that now, just the smell of dry earth and a saltwater breeze.

Harry bites his lip in anger. He grips the hoe and brings it down two-fisted, yelling in surprise as it hits something unyielding. The vibrations shoot up his arms and rattle his teeth.

 _"The cuttings were taken from the bushes by the Manor's stables. They're protected by my family's magic as well as a_ Herbivicus Duo _charm and are difficult to destroy, even for someone with your prodigious talents."_

Perhaps it's the heat of the sun or the remnants of the liquor he managed to wrest from the wine cellar last night, but Harry could swear Draco was right there, chastising him with his singular brand of affection. His breaths turn quick and shallow, and he fights the urge to sink to the ground as he closes his eyes and counts to four, willing the air to flow.

It's no use. Harry’s been here before, has tried to silence the ghosts with Mind Healers and potions and drink, but now he escapes the only way he knows how.

He runs. His feet pound the earth, the scenery blurring through a curtain of tears. It feels like he's been running for miles by the time he reaches the cliffs, sinking onto the ground on legs that feel like they’ve been Jelly-Legs Jinxed. An empty patch of lawn lies to the west, almost too flat to be natural.

_"It's perfect. I could train here during the off-season."_

_Harry nods. Harry can't wait to give it a go himself; his skills are still impressive, even if his husband happens to be the number one Chaser for the Falcons. "Training or regulation-sized?" He doesn't want anything overly ostentatious._

_"Regulation. I'd love to play some games. After all, Weasley's got enough family to field an entire team. And, of course, there's my teammates and Teddy."_

_"And if we're still short, we can reconsider adoption," Harry adds with a quiet laugh._

_Draco's expression shutters. "Unnecessary." He chews his lower lip, and then his face brightens. "The team I'm on will already have a built-in advantage."_

_Harry snorts. "So modest."_

_Draco leans back. "Only stating the obvious."_

_"Mmhmm.”_

_"Think what you want, but in the air, I'm faster and stronger."_

_Harry frowns; he's not sure if Draco is truly upset or if the posturing is more for show. "Just remember our agreement: no matter what, we won't go to bed angry."_

_Draco cups Harry's chin, his face turning serious._

_"We've spent too much of our lives angry with one another. I don't want to waste another minute doing anything except being madly in love with you."_

The ring on Harry's finger weighs heavily against his skin. It's a simple gold band that symbolised the truth and solidity of their love, but as Harry stares at it through a fresh wash of tears, it feels strangely mocking.

"Draco," Harry rasps, "how am I supposed to make it without you?"

He's not sure if it's a disappointment or a relief that the only answer he receives is the noise of the surf crashing on the rocks below.

*

The air is thick with clouds and the promise of rain the next day, so Harry forgoes working outdoors to pack. By nightfall, he has only the study and the master bedroom left to do, and he won't even consider starting the latter, not when his muscles ache and his emotions are just as weary. 

Harry takes his time wrapping a photograph of him and Draco at the annual gala for the Department of Magical Games and Sports. It was taken by one of _The Quibbler's_ photographers right before Harry had proposed, but Luna had nixed its publication, deeming the subject matter too private. Draco's trademark smirk was gone, softened into something unguarded and vulnerable as he met Harry's gaze.

A lump grows in the back of Harry's throat. He quickly bundles the photo in a wad of newspaper and packs it away. Draco's books and spectacles soon follow. Harry's fingers tremble slightly as he places the wire-rimmed glasses in their case; Draco had fought wearing them for the longest time, declaring them too swotty, but Harry always found them unbearably sexy. Draco's Quidditch jersey is next—it's not the latest style they're selling in Diagon Alley, but the one with a neatly darned hole and ragged hem, the one he received when he was first signed by the Falcons. It was an early show of faith by the organisation that Draco repaid with his loyalty, remaining with the team despite the numerous competing offers he'd received to the very end. 

Harry unfolds another cardboard box then returns his attention to the shelf holding a row of vinyl records. The vast majority are Draco's; he had scrolled through Spotify, discovered that Tom Waits' 'Aint Going Down to the Well No More' was actually a cover of a Lead Belly song, then fell into a Google-induced spiral of research that led to an everlasting love of Blues. 

Harry picks out a random album, pulls it from its sleeve, and places it on the turntable. His hand shakes, causing the arm to skitter from his grasp, and the needle skips wildly before finding its groove. Once it settles, a guitar's mournful slide fills the emptiness, haunting and lonely.

 _"An appropriate choice."_ Harry imagines Draco saying as Robert Johnson rasps ‘Lord, babe, I'm sinkin' down'.

Harry blows out a long breath and shutters his gaze. "Yeah," he whispers. "Misery loves company."

_"I was referring to the lyrics. After all, you're at a crossroads yourself, aren't you?"_

Harry's eyes fly open. He grabs the record cover and scans the titles of the tracks; it's not like he hasn't heard this album before, but he never pays close attention to the lyrics of any song unless they’re to a rock anthem, and if that's the case, he's not sure how this conversation is the product of his imagination. 

"Draco?" 

_"On your right. Next to the sofa."_

Harry whips around in the direction of the sound, only to be met with a clutter of boxes and wrapping paper.

"This isn't real." Harry scrubs at his face.

 _"I'm real,"_ Draco says, and Merlin, he sounds put out. _"Not in the way I'd prefer, but—"_

Fuck. Maybe he should call Healer Danforth. The rain is deafening against the window panes, and Harry paces as he thinks out loud. "You're not real," he repeats. "You wouldn't have waited days before contacting me…"

_"I've been trying to get your attention since you arrived. It hasn't been easy; there's been no one to speak to for years, and I'm a bit rusty."_

Harry scowls. Even when he's a figment of Harry's imagination, Draco manages to sound tetchy. "If you're real, what am I doing?"

There’s a long sigh. _"Scratching your nose. Lifting your hand. Rubbing your mouth… Seriously, Harry, none of this proves anything. Oh, a two-fingered salute. How utterly predictable."_

Harry can't help but laugh, although the sound is high-pitched and strained. "Fine. Tell me something I couldn't know. Something I couldn't make up on my own."

 _"I'd made a decision,"_ Draco says slowly as Harry's heart catches in his throat. _"It never seemed like the right time, but after you'd left on your last mission, I thought about how much I loved you and what I truly wanted. And I knew, finally, that I was ready."_ There's another pause. _"I had hoped to give it to you when you returned from Leeds, but… Well. It's in the desk. In the hidden drawer."_

It takes some finagling, but once Harry manages to open the compartment he spies an envelope addressed to him in Draco's neat and perfect script. He breaks the seal and pulls out the parchment, the yellow vellum growing splotchy and ink-stained as he begins to read.

"Draco," he sobs, crumpling the letter in his fist. The idea of what could have been has never been more cruel, and its unfulfilled promise leaves Harry broken and bereft.

*

Breakfast is at the bottom of Harry's priorities but he goes through the motions. He used to love cooking and had even tried to teach Draco at one point, but Harry suspects Draco's inability to whip up anything fancier than a mac and cheese was because he enjoyed having Harry wait on him hand and foot. It's a joyless task nowadays—it's too much hassle, cooking for one—but the limited options for takeaway this far out from the village means Harry has to at least make an effort. Besides, he's seen the way he looks in the mirror; he might not be as wiry as he was at Hogwarts, but his lack of appetite has taken a noticeable toll.

He spoons the eggs onto a plate and butters some toast.

_"It's good to see you consuming something other than liquid sustenance."_

Harry freezes. He breathes in once, then twice, before pouring some orange juice into a waiting glass.

"Cheers," he says, lifting the glass in the air and downing half its contents.

Harry hears Draco snort as he brings his breakfast outdoors. For a brief moment, Harry wonders if he should put out a second plate, then decides it's silly. Still, he pulls out the chair next to him. Just in case.

"Sooo." Harry takes a bite of egg; it takes several swallows, but he manages to keep it down. "I wasn't imagining things last night."

_"If you're looking for something else to convince you, I'm afraid I'm out of grand gestures."_

Harry pushes around his eggs. "It's okay. I don't think my heart can take many more surprises."

Draco's voice softens. _"I never wanted to keep secrets from you, you know."_

The fork in Harry's hand clatters to the ground. He picks it up and rubs the tines with his napkin, then places it on the table. "Why did you finally agree?" he asks as he thinks about Draco's letter, his change of heart, and the attached list of agencies. "I mean, I'd made peace with the fact that we weren't adopting. I would have been happy with you, regardless."

Something brushes against his skin. The wind chime that hangs from the apple tree is silent, and Harry shivers.

_"I always wanted a family. And I desperately wanted one with you, but a part of me also thought you'd wake up one day and realise what a terrible mistake you'd made. That you’d think I wasn't worthy."_

"Even after everything we went through?" They had worked so hard to make their relationship work, despite the obstacles.

 _"Even Malfoys have their insecurities, Harry,"_ Draco says, his voice fond. _"But you didn't leave. You never used my failures against me. Eventually, I stopped waiting for the other shoe to fall."_

"But it did," Harry bites out as grief and guilt overwhelm him. He stares out into the distance; the grasses are dotted with oxtongue and bedstraw, their rare beauty surviving even the harshest of elements. The irony doesn't escape Harry because he couldn't save Draco—not with his wards, or his power, or all the love in the world.

It was a fucking circus after Draco's death, between the ongoing investigation and the insatiable press. And the months leading up to the trial were nearly as bad as the trial itself. Harry was beside himself, a toxic mix of misery and anger that left him broken and bitter, straining even his closest friendships. It hadn't occurred to him to visit the beach house during this period, not once.

"I'm so sorry, Draco." The apology catches in Harry's throat. Scratches it raw.

_"It's not your fault."_

"You were here by yourself. For years."

_"I don't remember much of what happened. I remember the Aurors coming in, and the curiosity seekers and photographers. It felt wrong with all these strangers milling about; it was physically painful. I think I retreated… hid myself away, for a while."_

Harry slumps further in his seat. He knows that ghosts are imprints of the souls of the deceased, but that something often prohibits them from moving on. "And what about now? Are you staying?"

 _"I don’t know if I have a choice. I think something is keeping me here."_ Draco pauses meaningfully. _"Or rather, someone."_

Harry feels like he's been sucker-punched. 

"Me?" He gapes. "I didn't even… if I was, why would I stay away?"

_"I don't think you're doing it consciously. But we're married, and we come from lineages with long ties to magic. Our bond is carried in this house, in its contents and its wards… even in the roses you tried to dig up earlier. Since you came back, I've felt stronger than ever. In fact, this morning, I discovered I could do this."_

In the brightness of the summer sun, Harry sees the shimmery outline of Draco's silhouette.

*

"You always were a determined fucker," Draco says with a scowl.

Harry steals a look from under his lashes. It had taken them nearly twenty-four hours, but Draco was right—his ghostly form appears to be feeding off both their magical and emotional connections, and Harry is nothing if not dogged. By the time the sun peeks over the horizon and paints the sky with a lavender hue, there's not only a distinct outline to Draco's entire form but a heft behind it, too. 

"Try again," Harry begs.

"Circe, is this how you train your recruits?" Draco's brow furrows as he focuses on the rose bud in front of him. He reaches out tentatively, stopping inches from its velvety petals, then pushes forward with an impatient huff. Unlike his previous attempts, his hand doesn't disappear. Instead, the flower moves, falling slowly to the ground.

"You did it!" Harry crows as Draco's face morphs into a surprised grin.

"I did!" Draco's tone softens. _"We_ did it." His gaze dips down to Harry's wedding ring. "I always felt invincible with you by my side."

The sun rises slowly, a welcome glow on both their skins.

*

Despite the lack of sleep, Harry has no desire to seek out its embrace, not when he has Draco for company. A pallet of bedding packs from the local nursery lies out front, including some sweet peas which Draco insists on getting. Harry adds some compost to the soil and casts a gentle _Aqua Eructo_ to keep the beds moist. He bends down, ready to unwrap one of the larger shrubs, when his mobile rings.

He wipes his hands over the tops of his jeans as Draco looks at the growing streaks of dirt with a disapproving expression.

"Hey." Few people have Harry's number and his friends use it sparingly, especially now.

"Hi, Harry." Harry hears Hermione's caution as Ron shouts "Wotcher, Harry!" in the background. "How's it going?"

He's in a magnanimous mood and decides to appease her curiosity. "Almost all the rooms are packed and I'm planting the walkway today." He holds up his cell to take a picture just as Draco steps into the frame; Draco arches a brow as Harry hits 'send' anyway.

"What do you think?" Harry asks, his voice breathless.

Draco rolls his eyes and floats closer to Harry.

There's the sound of murmurs on the other end. "You've been busy," Hermione says, her voice filled with obvious relief.

"You don't…? I mean, do you see anything that shouldn't be there, or—?" Harry schools his face, trying to hide his disappointment. He's not imagining Draco's appearance, he's _not._

"It looks great, Harry," Ron says. "I'm guessing you'll be done with everything in another day or two?"

"I was given two weeks off," Harry says slowly.

"Didn’t you say you were all packed?" Ron asks, surprised.

"Harry, you just returned to work," Hermione adds.

Harry sets his jaw. "Kingsley seemed to think it was okay.” He was the one who approved the time off, after all.

"But mate…. You're going to spend it all down there?"

"What about Danforth?" Hermione interjects. "Don't you have a session scheduled with her next Tuesday?"

"I rescheduled it for the week after." Harry sighs as Hermione lets out a disappointed sound. "I did it before I left. I wanted time to sort things out on my own and she agreed. But if it makes you feel better, she left my original slot open, just in case I changed my mind."

"I'm glad." Hermione says. "I don't mean to push. Just know if you need us, we're here. Always."

"Even if it's three in the morning and it's the first night's sleep we've had in weeks," Ron adds.

Harry lets out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "I know." Despite his obstinance, he's always known. "I love you both. Give Rose a kiss for me, and I'll see you soon."

Draco gives Harry a thoughtful look after Harry ends the call. "They want what's best for you.”

Harry pockets his phone and closes his eyes. "Yeah." A lump grows in his throat; his friends are available but he's made every effort to push them away, while Draco will never be available in the way he wants, no matter how hard Harry wishes.

“Harry,” Draco says slowly.

Harry feels something against the back of his hand. "I feel you," he says, his eyes widening in astonishment.

Draco’s form shimmers, tingling and crackling at the edges.

"I think the bond is getting stronger," Draco agrees.

Harry reaches out and curls his fingers around where Draco's wrist should be. When he feels Draco's energy pulsing in response he tightens his grip, unwilling to let go.

*

Draco's presence grows exponentially from there on out. Harry can make out the subtle colours in his skin, like the tan of his hands and the sunkissed gold in his cheeks. He can see the light grey of Draco's eyes and the way they darken when Draco grows troubled. And if Harry truly concentrates, he can feel Draco’s warmth when they touch, and the way Draco presses back and stops Harry’s hand from falling through. 

Draco now remains visible from the driveway to the home's southwest border, just far enough to see the Quidditch pitch in the distance. He can float alongside Harry to the rooftop, the colour of which has since turned from a bright copper to a sea-foam green. They sit on the ridged tiles for hours, looking out over the meadows and along the rugged coastline.

When the hot weather saps Draco's energy too much for them to continue, they descend. Something catches Draco's eye in the garage, and he runs in front of Harry.

"Draco, wait!" Harry shouts, carrying his broom. 

Draco reaches the garage first, practically vibrating with excitement. "You kept it," he says, his eyes shining.

Harry's face heats. "Yeah, well. I—"

"I _knew_ you secretly liked it!" Draco crows as he eyes the Bugatti. "Even when you complained it was too flashy and impractical."

 _"You_ liked it." Harry's face flames further when he remembers the arguments they had about the Chiron Draco purchased with his re-signing bonus. "I couldn't give it up. It reminds me too much of you." Every inch of the luxury car was Draco, from its powerful lines and overarching elegance, to its buttery-smooth leather seats.

"Remember the first time we had sex in it?" Draco says thoughtfully.

"Tried to have sex," Harry amends with a grin. As beautiful as the car is, it is impractical for many things.

"I'm really glad you kept it, though. I’ve told you before, you need to remember how to—" Draco's voice trails off "—to have fun," he finishes awkwardly.

And just like that, the elation of the morning ends with a crash. "I'm going to get something to eat," Harry says. He stows away the broom and shuts the door behind them.

They walk back to the house, similarly subdued. Harry knows it's because Draco remembers what he used to say. What he couldn't say, today.

_"You need to remember how to live, Harry."_

*

Harry wakes up from his post-lunch nap to the buzzing of his mobile. He grabs it from his nightstand, groaning when he sees four unanswered texts from Marie. He scans the messages, his guilt growing as the content grows more frantic. He's sure she's already made her way through her fifth cup of coffee and just as many cigarettes.

He steels himself, then dials her number.

"Harry." Somehow, she manages to turn his name into a question, a statement, and an accusation, all rolled into one.

"Sorry," he lies. "I just got your messages. The reception down here is shit."

There's a barely audible snort on the other end. "If you want to install a Floo, I could have you connected to the Network in a day."

Harry picks at a loose thread on the arm of the sofa.

"Well," Marie says, a bit too brightly when he doesn't respond. "I wanted to make sure we're a go for Sunday. The weather is supposed to be beautiful, and the home and grounds will show at their best advantage."

The thought of strangers traipsing through the house turns Harry's blood cold. "About that," he hedges. "As it turns out, packing is a bigger job than I thought."

There's a sharp intake of breath. "I already have potential buyers scheduled for Sunday, all of whom have been vetted." Harry can tell she's trying to reign in her frustration. "In fact, one is prepared to make a same day cash offer."

"That’s great, Marie. Well, I'll let you know how it all works out."

"Harry—"

"Gotta go. Lots of packing to do," Harry says brusquely as he ends the call.

Draco floats in several minutes later as Harry sits at the edge of the bed, cradling the mobile in his hand.

"Everything okay?"

"That was the estate agent. She has buyers coming to see the house in four days."

"Ahhh. I see."

The silence sits like a heavy weight between them. "I'm going for a swim to clear my head," Harry says. He doesn't want to push, especially when he feels Draco's mood grow sour, but he can't deny the relief that washes over him when Draco follows him out.

*

The waters in the bay are chilly, even in the heat of summer. Draco can't reach the part where sand meets the sea, but he seems content to lay on the grass, his arms folded behind his head as he watches Harry sluice through the water.

"Cold enough for you?" Draco calls out as Harry clambers onto shore. 

Harry grins. The dip in the water has rid him of his exhaustion and the aftertaste of his conversation with Marie. He stands over Draco and shakes himself out like a wet Crup. Some of the droplets fall through, but Harry notices there are others that curve along the lines of Draco’s thighs and wrists, lingering on his skin.

Draco shades his eyes and props himself on his elbow as he stares at Harry's hip. "You got a tattoo."

"Yeah." Harry had it done while pissed on Firewhiskey; he remembers needing the pain, needing to feel something while he was half out of his head.

"Can I see?"

Harry swallows, then nods. He pushes down on the waistband of his trunks; the tattoo spirals along the side of his hip: a lion's head surrounded by a mane of roses with a snake entwined in the blooms. "The artist used ink from the Giant Squid," Harry says as Draco traces a rose with his finger. "I'm going to get it coloured—"

Draco shakes his head. "You shouldn’t. It's perfect the way it is." 

Harry barks out a hoarse laugh. "Hardly. After all, it's unfinished."

"Perhaps this is the way it's supposed to be," Draco says quietly.

Something hot and terrible wells up inside Harry. He knows what Draco is suggesting. "'Perfect' is growing old together, being so in love we drive our friends crazy. We could’ve been the best fucking godparents to Teddy. We could’ve raised a family." Harry chokes back his tears. "How is anything that’s happened _perfect?"_

He waits for the snide comment or a commiseration. But Draco remains quiet, and with each passing moment, Harry knows that he's somehow misstepped. That he's messed things up terribly.

The long grass itches his skin. The flycatchers sing their burry warbles in the distance. 

Draco floats up, his mouth drawn into a thin line. "I'm tired, Harry. I think I'll head back," he says, his shape fading against the grass and the vast blue sky. 

*

Draco's nowhere to be found by the time Harry makes his way back to the house. Harry putters around for a bit, then drives into town, picks up some groceries from Sainsbury's and a curry takeaway for dinner. When he returns, the house feels too empty and quiet. He manages half his meal before he stores the remainder, attributing his poor appetite to sleep deprivation.

Still, it's a long while before he succumbs to sleep.

*

"Are you feeding the buyers this Sunday?" Draco asks, swanning into the kitchen the next morning as if nothing had happened.

Harry's mouth drops open in confusion as he reaches for a yoghurt and fruit. "What? And no," he adds, furrowing his brow. "Why would you think that?"

Draco points to the refrigerator's shelves, crammed with food and drink. "There's enough in here for a Welcoming Feast."

Harry cocks his head and watches Draco carefully. He closes the refrigerator door. "I picked up a couple things at Sainsbury's. It's easier to get everything in one go than head back out."

"And just how long are you planning on sticking around, Harry?"

Harry feels his cheeks heat. Perhaps Draco is worried that he’ll be abandoned.

"I don't have to leave," Harry says quickly, adopting what he hopes is a reassuring tone. "Maybe I'm rushing things, trying to sell. I'm sorry I wasn’t here before, but I can make up for it—"

"No!" Draco shoots forward with a suddenness that has Harry reeling. "I don't blame you for not coming back, and I certainly don't blame you for getting on with your life. But if you think for one moment I'm going to let you rot around in your memories by staying here longer—"

Harry feels his world tilt precariously. "What are you saying?"

"I'm not stupid, Harry! You gave Marie every reason to pull the listing. You've bought enough food to last you weeks. You're pushing me every day to achieve a corporeal form, as if that's somehow going to make everything better."

"So I want to be with you, in any way I can. What’s wrong with that?” Harry shouts in return. “When I found you" —Harry shudders, sickened by the memories of finding Draco sprawled in their room, the hateful words written on their door and on his skin— "Merlin, Draco, I thought I’d lost you forever. I never had the chance to tell you how much I loved you… to even say goodbye."

"You showed me you loved me every day we were together," Draco says softly. "I never doubted that, not for a minute."

Harry collapses into a chair and hides his head in his hands. "Then why is this so wrong? Wouldn't you do the same?"

"Harry, I—" Draco sighs. "If I were younger, and certainly more selfish, I would want us to be together in whatever way we could. Even if it meant that you’d have to stay, apart from your friends and family and your job. But I know better now. That's not what I want, because it's not what's best for you."

Harry looks up, trying to get Draco to understand. _"You're_ what's best for me."

Draco shakes his head. "Not if it means giving up the rest of your life to stay here."

Harry wipes at his tears; he remembers the happier times, the laughter and love contained within these walls. "So we'll find a way to make it work. Maybe Hermione can help. Maybe we don't have to stay here; you can come back to London with me."

"If you won't do it for yourself, then do it for me!" Draco cries out, his image sputtering in and out of focus. "You're keeping me here, Harry! I can't eat, I can't fly, I can't even dip my toes in the bloody bay. We had happy memories here, once. Don't poison those too." His face pales as Harry pushes back from his seat. "What are you doing?"

"You don't want to be tied down to me anymore. So I'll find a way to fix it," Harry snarls. He snatches his keys and hurries out the door, ignoring Draco's protests without so much as a backwards glance.

*

The Chiron shifts gears seamlessly as the speedometer climbs, the engine's throttle matching the churning emotions in Harry's gut. There aren't many motorists on the road and Harry pushes the car faster as he tries to sort out his thoughts.

There is a part of him, admittedly, that wishes he could see Draco in his corporeal form. How could Harry not want that after being denied Draco’s love and companionship for all these years? Could anyone be satisfied with just a picture of a sweet if they had the chance to actually smell and taste it instead?

The road blurs as Harry blinks furiously. His hands tighten against the steering wheel as he follows the steep path down the cliffs. He can't understand how Draco could think he'd do anything purposefully to hurt him; even worse, Harry's not sure how he can free Draco if the house remains standing. Their magic is everywhere, in the furniture and the walls, on the grounds and in the flora. Hell, it's even in Harry's— 

The answer hits him like a lightning bolt. It's something he's sworn never to do, but he doesn't see any other way around it. The car suddenly shudders, and there's something in the way the next curve approaches that causes Harry’s stomach to flip. He slams on the brakes and turns the steering wheel to the right but he's _off,_ the correction coming a fraction too late. The car careens off the road in a frenzy of screeching tires and burning rubber, plowing through dirt and gravel until nature steps in and everything grinds to a stop.

*

If Draco had feet that reached the ground, he'd surely be tapping them.

"Where the fuck have you been?" he asks as soon as Harry opens the door. His next words get cut off once he sees the bruises and scrapes on Harry's face. "What happened?"

Harry shrugs; he's too tired to argue. "I had a run in with a tree."

"Are you all right?" Draco hurries to Harry's side, his eyes wide with alarm, and begins checking him for injuries.

"I think the tree had it worse," Harry jokes weakly. He hisses as Draco's fingers trace the bruise that's formed on his temple. 

Draco doesn't cease his examination, the bastard. In fact, he seems to press harder. "Just how fast were you going?"

"Too fast for a hairpin turn." Harry rolls his eyes as Draco's lips thin, and he tries to push his way past him.

Draco dogs at his heels. "You know these roads with your eyes closed. For you to lose control—"

Harry closes his eyes as the throbbing in his head increases. "Can we not do this now?" He makes his way into the kitchen and empties the ice cube tray into a plastic bag to make himself a compress. 

"With your driving skills and the way the Chiron handles, you must've been going unconscionably fast, especially on these roads. Do you have a death wish?"

Harry doesn't think he's seen Draco this furious with him since they were children. He can't help pushing back at the accusation, and it makes him lash out.

"Well, that's one way of severing our bond," Harry huffs under his breath. 

Draco falls silent, his face ashen. "Are you telling me you crashed on purpose?" he asks hoarsely.

Harry rolls his eyes. He opens the refrigerator and grabs a bottle of beer. Draco intercepts it; it flies from Harry’s hand and lands on the ground, smashing to pieces as its amber liquid stains the floor.

"You bloody fucker," Draco seethes. "I didn't have a choice. You do."

Harry meets his gaze. "Maybe I don't want to choose anymore," Harry says.

Draco's lips curl into a disappointed sneer. It's a warped Cheshire smile that lingers long in Harry's mind after Draco fades from sight.

*

On Friday, Harry snaps several photos of the house and sends them to Marie as an apology. The morning light is beautiful and the rooms look warm and cheery. He hesitates when he reaches the shot he took of the kitchen; there's an indentation in the wall next to the moulding. It’s not overly obtrusive, but it’s noticeable.

_"Fuck," Harry gasps as Draco palms the front of his trousers. His heel collides with the wall, and the sound of crumbling plaster rouses Harry from the haze of his desire._

_"Oh my god," Draco points to the dent in the wall. "Look what you did. You're a menace."_

_"I'm the menace?" Harry laughs. His cock is still half-hard, especially since Draco hasn't let up his ministrations._

_Draco nods. "Who wears Quidditch boots indoors?"_

_"I was a bit distracted," Harry admits with a flash of guilt. They hadn't even been here a week and he's already messed up their perfect home. He pulls out his wand to cast a Repairing Charm, only to be stopped by Draco._

_"Leave it."_

_"It'll just take a second—"_

_"No, I mean_ leave it. _It's our home. Now we've marked it forever."_

Harry saves the picture to his own gallery but doesn't send it with the rest. Instead, he buys spackle and paint from the village hardware store and sets about repairing the dent by hand. He takes his time as he fills in the cracks, and later, after it dries, sands it down to a fine finish. Once it's painted, it looks immaculate, the defect indiscernible to the eye or touch.

Harry takes another picture and sends it to Marie, then deletes it from his camera roll. The kitchen is a beautiful mix of high-end appliances and old magic. It looks like something out of the pages of a magazine, a place that most can envision living in, without any hint of its prior occupants.

It doesn't help the feeling that the memories of everything else in the house are slowly slipping away, especially when Draco doesn't make an appearance.

*

There's only one room left. The door knob underneath Harry’s hand is quiet. Cool.

"Okay." Harry takes a deep breath and tries to calm his racing heart. "Okay," he repeats, a bit more forcefully.

He prepares himself for a rush of anger and overwhelming grief, but what greets him when the door to their bedroom swings open is a sense of surprising normalcy. There’s a moment where his body and mind are caught in limbo, the adrenaline that’s pouring through his blood stymied like a river that’s suddenly been dammed.

The mattress sinks as Harry sits and eyes his surroundings. He hasn’t been back in this room since that night, when what was supposed to be a reunion (and, as he's recently learned, a new beginning) turned out to be the end. The walls and floors have the remnants of a Scouring Spell, its sharpness still discernible after all these years. Yet everything looks as he last remembered. The furniture is the same, and Harry notes wryly that the strongest _Scourgify_ apparently manages to erase even the darkest and most troubling stains.

He doesn't want to be confronted with reminders of that horrible night, of Draco's valiant fight against his attackers and subsequent suffering, but the erasure of everything that's happened is somehow worse.

_"I thought you were busy chasing bad guys all over the English countryside."_

_Harry lets out a soft laugh. "Not anymore. We're back in Leeds."_

_He can hear Draco shuffling around in the background, his voice muted. "Can you do the FaceTime thing?" Harry presses the button on his screen and patiently waits, chuckling to himself as he hears Draco rustling about and the occasional muffled curse._

_"I can. The question is, can you?" Harry asks, unable to keep the amusement from his voice._

_Draco's face finally pops onto the screen. He's devastatingly handsome, even when dressed in his pyjamas and more than a bit flustered._

_"Early night?" Harry asks. It’s only eight._

_Draco peers at Harry from above the rim of his glasses. "As it turns out, I have plans," he says sniffs haughtily._

_Harry raises his brows. "Really?"_

_Draco holds up a book. "Hot chocolate, some Hawthorne, and the Blues."_

_There's a knock on the door. Harry turns his head as one of the junior Aurors enters. He motions for her to give him five minutes._

_"What more could you want?" Harry asks, turning his attention back to Draco._

_Something flits over Draco's face, as if he's enjoying a private secret. "I'm sure I can think of a few things."_

_Harry lets out an impatient noise. "I miss you." As soon as the debriefing is over, he's going to go home and show Draco just how much. He remembers seeing a small souvenir shop near the hotel; perhaps he can find something there to tickle Draco's fancy. "I should be done in a couple of hours. I—" There's another knock on the door, which grows louder and insistent enough for Draco to hear._

_"Go. The faster you go, the faster you'll be done." Draco runs a finger along the placket of his pyjama top and loosens a button while giving Harry a cheeky grin._

_"Wait for me, Draco," Harry says with a warning growl._

_Draco looks up, wide-eyed and innocent. "Always, my love."_

Harry removes his glasses and wipes the lenses with the hem of his shirt. He stands and takes one last look; there's nothing he wants from this room. Nothing worth coming back to.

He shuts the door behind him. When he looks up, he sees Draco waiting for him in the hallway, his face sad and frightened and achingly beautiful.

"I wished I could've been in there for you," Draco says, jerking his head towards the bedroom door. "But…" He splays out his hands helplessly. "I don't remember much about that night. But when I get close to the room, it hurts."

Harry's glad Draco can't remember the details of what happened. "Every single one of those fuckers who hurt you was caught and sentenced," he says hoarsely.

Draco nods. "If their convictions gave you some peace, then I'm satisfied."

 _I haven't had a moment of peace since I lost you._ Harry realises that if Draco were to remain on this earth, he'd never have a moment of peace, either.

"I think I know how we can break the bond," Harry says in a rush.

"Really?" Draco looks up, his face filled with hope.

"Yeah." They still have one more day before the showing, and Harry thinks that'll be all he needs. "But we can't do it until tomorrow." He hesitates, but if he doesn't say it now, he'll lose his chance forever. "Will you stay with me tonight? One last time?"

Soft lips press against Harry's cheek. "Of course," Draco murmurs. “I’d like that.”

Harry tries to commit Draco's scent, his voice, his touch to memory. Lets them lift him up when he feels like sinking.

*****

When Harry wakes up, it’s earlier than usual. The sun is out, with a scattering of clouds and a faint breeze.

It's the perfect day to set Draco free.

There's a ripple of sadness at the thought, but Harry pushes it aside as he watches Draco's slumbering form. The duvet rises and falls along the gentle curve of Draco’s hip, and Harry can make out the individual lengths of Draco's eyelashes in the morning light. He takes in the shape of Draco's nose—sharp and straight—the freckles that dot his cheeks, and the tiny scar at the bottom of his ear where he was knocked into the hoop by a particularly aggressive Beater. 

Harry shifts—his morning erection is inopportune, and possibly inappropriate. He thinks about sneaking into the shower for a quick wank when he hears a soft noise, and turns to see Draco watching him with a smirk.

Heat floods Harry's cheeks. "I—" 

Draco arches a brow. "Need some help?"

Of course, Harry's cock rouses at the thought. "Tell me what I can do," he says hoarsely.

Draco pushes him back onto the bed and Harry goes willingly. He holds his breath, letting Draco take the lead.

Draco throws off the duvet and straddles him. It's too warm to wear anything except a pair of boxer shorts, and Harry is grateful for the lack of layers between them. If he focuses, he can _really_ feel Draco's touch. Harry laughs as Draco’s hair tickles his skin, and sighs as Draco presses butterfly kisses against his lips.

Over the last three years, Harry can count the number of sexual partners he’s had on one hand. They've all been one-offs—something to stave his loneliness, and nothing that’s approached some semblance of love or even a healthy desire. Harry revels in the joy of reuniting with Draco; he feels the dam of his repressed emotions burst as Draco responds, growing increasingly solid under Harry's hands. It's not exactly the same—the friction is off and Draco's too light—but he's as beautiful as he is in Harry's dreams.

It's been so long. Harry wants to give in to the rush of pleasure that's building inside him but he also wants this to last forever. He shucks off his trunks, and they work together to slide off Draco's pyjamas. Harry drinks in the sight of Draco’s naked body; he commits it to memory as Draco waits patiently, letting Harry take his fill.

When Harry finally nods, the movement is small and nearly imperceptible, but Draco still sees. Their bodies entwine, flesh pressed together without a single space between, the vibrancy of their connection causing the bond to sing.

"Draco," Harry says. He doesn't know whether he's weeping for himself, Draco, or them both.

He feels Draco's fingers, graceful yet so strong, wrap around his cock. Harry jerks into Draco's grip and knows he can't hold off much longer. 

"I love you, Harry. Always," Draco says. 

The words are Harry's undoing. He spills sticky hot into Draco's hand, a sob wrenched from his lips as Draco adjusts his speed. Draco's eyes are a myriad of colours as he watches Harry shudder beneath him. He’s seemingly pleased by how quickly Harry responds to his touch, yet it's also tainted by an undercurrent of sadness.

Harry knows that in his heart, Draco is already saying goodbye.

*

Harry looks at the dwindling pile of pebbles at his feet. 

He picks one up and throws it off the cliff, aiming for the water. _"Reducto!"_ he shouts as a bolt of blue light bursts from his wand. The stone explodes into a cloud of dust as the spell hits its target.

"That's the tenth one you've hit. To be honest, it's getting a bit redundant," Draco drawls.

Harry lowers his wand and tucks it back in his pocket. "I had to make sure it was possible. That I could go through with it." He sinks down onto the ground and remembers that it was one week ago when he came to this same spot, thinking he had lost everything. It's a cruel twist of fate that he's about to do so again.

Draco sits down next to him with his long legs folded in front. Even in his ghostly form, everything he does is elegant. "You mentioned you had a way to break the bond."

Harry nods. He knows Draco has been patiently waiting for an explanation. "You said it was our bond that was holding you back. I've already dismantled the wards and the ones around the home this morning. But there's something else binding us together." He holds up his hand.

Draco gasps; of course he'd get it, right away.

"Our wedding rings."

"I don't think yours is a vessel, since it's no longer tangible. Mine, however…" Harry sighs. "A Smashing Spell guarantees there wouldn’t be any fragments left that are large enough to hold significant residual magic."

Draco nods thoughtfully. "But why cast over a cliff? If you should miss—"

"I know," Harry whispers. Harry's thought about that as well. "It would be easier to set the ring in a secure place and cast a _Reducto_ so powerful that it and anything within a one-hundred foot radius couldn't possibly survive the blast. To be honest, if I had planned this a week ago, that's exactly what I would have done," Harry confesses. "I wouldn't have cared if this whole place got destroyed along with it. But being here with you, I started remembering the things we shared. How much love you poured into every room." He remembers how Hogwarts was rebuilt after the War, the importance of its history, and knows he’s making the right decision. "This house is not the right place for me, not without you in it, but I hope for the right person, it will be." He scuffs his shoe in the dirt. "It is a risk, of course. If you don't want me to take the chance, I won't."

Draco tips his head into the sun. His expression has never been clearer. "You're right. And I trust you."

Uncertainty grips Harry. What if Draco's trust is misplaced? After all, Harry wasn't there to protect him that night. What if he ruins Draco's chances a second time? 

"Draco—"

"Don't you dare," Draco hisses. "I won't have you regret what we've had for a second. I understand survivor's guilt. I've often wondered if what happened to me was penance for the poor choices I'd made, for what I'd done. And yes, of course I wish we had the family we dreamt of, and had more time together, but I am forever grateful for what we were given. I've been enamoured with you since the day we first met, Harry. I never thought I'd have anything close to this. Ever."

Draco bridges the gap between them and wraps Harry in a hug. “Thank you for showing me I was someone worth loving," Draco murmurs as he kisses Harry gently on the mouth.

Harry lets out a pained noise. "I miss you so much already," he says, burying his face in the crook of Draco's neck.

Draco gives Harry one last, lingering kiss. When he steps back, his eyes are filled with worry. 

"You won't be alone tonight?" he asks, subtle as always.

Harry shakes his head. "I'm driving straight to Ron's after this," he says. The car is already packed; he doesn't want to stay here after—well, after everything is done. He's grateful to have retained a bit of self-preservation.

"My love." Draco strokes the curve of Harry's cheek, and in that moment Harry wishes Draco's presence wasn't so tangible because he can feel the undeniable sorrow in his touch. "Our bond may be breaking but you'll always be a part of me."

"I know," Harry croaks out. 

"Do you?" Draco's voice shakes, as if it were imperative that Harry believe his next words. "It's okay to move on, Harry. I died that night, but you didn't. Let me go, for now. One day—whether it's in a year, or a hundred—we'll be back together." 

Harry doesn't trust himself to speak. He squeezes Draco’s hand. He knows that Draco understands, regardless.

Draco looks down to where their hands are clasped. "I'm so lucky, Harry. Even now, you're still looking out for me." He breaks their hold, and as the sun continues its westward movement, Harry knows it's time.

He runs a finger over his wedding band. _'Til death do us part,_ Harry thinks with a sad smile. He removes the ring, trying to be as strong as he can as he feels the warmth of its magical energy leave his hand.

"I'm the lucky one, Draco," Harry says, managing a lopsided grin. He cocks his arm, his muscles tensing as he prepares to throw the ring into the deep blue waters below.

It's now or never. Harry takes one long, last look at Draco before pitching the ring as far as he can. He whips out his wand, its tip trailing the arc of the ring through the sky with unerring accuracy.

 _"Reducto!"_ Harry shouts. The blaze of his spell shines bright and strong, and Harry knows before he even sees the explosion of fine, ashy mist that his aim is true. When the dust settles he finally gives into his grief, his shoulders shaking as the sobs wrack his entire body. 

"Draco," Harry gasps. "I love you."

The breeze picks up, caressing his skin. Harry looks up; there's a shimmer in the distance where Draco remains, as if holding onto the residue of his magic for one last goodbye. His form grows more nebulous, the small details fading one by one: the Sectumsempra scars, visible through the V of his shirt, go first; then his Dark Mark; followed by the pink of his skin and the platinum of his hair and the faint crinkles at the corners of his eyes; until there's only a shimmery haze and the hint of his smile, warm and loving.

_“Thank you, my love.”_

Harry remains rooted to the spot, refusing to leave until an hour's past and he's left alone with only the sounds of the surf and a pair of Herring gulls squabbling in the distance.

*

The house looks even smaller in the rearview mirror. The setting sun casts a shadow across the garden in the front, the shade turning the formerly white walls a pinkish brown. The windows are clean, allowing a peek into the rooms inside, which are tastefully decorated but eager for a new owner's touch.

The rose bushes in front look firmly settled in the ground, their sturdy rootstocks and plentiful canes portending a riot of blooms in the years to come. Though his and Draco's magical signatures are no longer embedded in the earth, Harry's glad they're able to leave something behind, something that has nothing to do with the fame or mistakes of their past, but with life and renewal and beauty.

He starts the Chiron and shifts the gear into drive. There's a pale strip of skin where his ring once lay, but he doesn't need the physical reminder to keep Draco close to his heart.

 _Wait for me, Draco,_ Harry thinks.

_Always, my love._

Harry pulls away. The radio blares an old Muggle rock song, a blues scale guitar riff that carries Harry forward as he steps down on the gas and takes the winding road home.

_**~fin~** _

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

>  **Additional content warning:** There is a brief accusation by one character of a potential suicide attempt, although no such attempt was made. Harry also utilises a breathing technique to cope with his anxiety in one scene.
> 
> \---  
> Come say "hi" on Tumblr: [nerdherderette](https://nerdherderette.tumblr.com/)


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